Handy, Sandy, Mandy and Fifi were all arrested last night in a sting operation by the police targeting crime against tourists on the Algarve. Later on we discovered that the police had first attempted to catch Handy in a honeytrap sting by sending an undercover police woman in a skimpy bikini to seduce him, but mystified at his complete lack of interest quickly sent in the feds to swoop on everyone.

I’m not sure exactly why, but the girls were released by the police after only half an hour, the policemen waving them off with smiles on their faces, whereas the twins were kept in the local prison overnight and I had to go down and bail them out this morning. Sandy came out with a number of dodgy new contacts and Handy came out with a smile on his face.

So it looks like our hustling is over for now, but no fear because we’re all well into holiday mode and have been enjoying an afternoon on our terrace with the tunes blaring and the drinks flowing freely. Sandy passed around one of his saggy joints and we all laid on our backs pointing out clouds that looked like things, which quickly deteriorated into clouds that looked like body parts. Then Mrs Muck served up her special sangria and things have been getting progressively messier ever since.

After bailing the boys out this morning we headed up to the fish market and I can’t wait to fire the barbie up later. No part of that sentence was a euphemism before you ask. We’ve been living on seafood since arriving here and have some tuna and dorado to grill later and a fridge full of drinks. We’ve invited some of our neighbours so hopefully will have a nice little party going on later. A simple mix of alcohol, random strangers and Handy and Sandy. What can possibly go wrong?

Our apartment is fantastic, overlooking Dona Ana beach, a stunning cove with sandstone cliffs which hide secret tunnels that are only revealed at low tide, and limestone stacks and arches that litter the coastline, eroded away from the land over thousands of years. Truly a sight to behold, especially first thing in the morning. Sorry, slipped into Judith Chalmers mode there for a minute. To tell you the truth, after a bong of Sandy’s Lisbon Lights sensi (which he actually scored while inside last night) I’m not quite sure of who I am at all anymore. Anyway, the point is that it’s beautiful here, and so far (apart from some of the antics) we’re having a great time. The food and drink are superb, and it’s pretty cheap. It’s only a couple of hours to fly here, and there is no time difference and no jetlag.

We’re disappointed though just how quiet the resort is. It is quite literally dead, and the Palace club was firmly closed when we headed down there to check it out last night. I’m starting to think that our apartment is the only place in town that’s playing house music, and boy are we playing it loud! The apartment is furnished with some hefty speakers and a sub-woofer that gets the job done nicely. We had some old skool trance pumping earlier, and I’m not too proud to admit that I broke into some spontaneous running man when Darude came on. Nothing wrong with a bit of Euro-cheese when on holiday mate. Hell no. One day I’ll tell you about my secret eurobeat fetish and Spagna back catalogue, but we’ll save that for another time I think.

According to my Lonely Planet guide, Lagos is meant to be the party capital, so I can only think that I must have picked up the Nigeria guide by mistake, because Lagos on the Algarve is quieter than Handy after he’s Rohypnoled himself. (You should know how hard it was not to insert a sneaky child abduction gag there as the metaphor. I’m quite pleased with myself if the truth be told.)

The main strip (apart from Fifi’s late night show she’s performing at the party later) is a cobbled pedestrian street in the old town, with a few bars that it’s claimed get busy “later on” but never seem to. I feel sorry for the poor girls out here for the summer whose job it is to stand outside the bars and get punters in to spend some money, their forlorn line in the street for the world looking like a row of unsuccessful hookers who never get picked up. Well, sod that, our apartment is where it’s at tonight. It’s going to be the social event of the…. well, ever here in Lagos by the looks of this place, so I’m off to fire up the barbie and marinade my pork. Again, not a euphemism. It promises to be a good evening…

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